


you dove in and you're still breathing

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you dove in and you're still breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ kinkbingo square of “breath”.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Dean trusts Sam.

He trusts him with his life and then some.

So it takes him hardly anytime at all to lick his lips and say “yeah, Sammy” when Sam says he wants to do this.

Now he’s struggling to breathe, and that’s okay. That’s okay because Sam’s not about to let anything happen to him.

Even when he starts to see bright, white light dance in front of him, it only takes the smallest shift to the right for Sam’s face to be right there. He swallows, deep, and feels his adam’s apple roll under Sam’s thumb.

Sam’s hand moves in response, letting up for a moment, and Dean manages to suck in a breath of air before Sam’s lips are sealing over his. That found breath is gone as Dean gasps into Sam’s mouth, instinct taking over as his chest burns and his lungs scream to be filled.

He finds himself pulling at Sam’s back, chipped nails digging into the skin, and later he’ll worry there was blood, but Sam doesn’t do anything. He just continues to move with slow, languid strokes and his tongue presses against Dean’s.

The white light starts turning black, blurring the edges of his vision as he tries to find some air, just a little, just enough to let him see again, to see Sam’s face, to _feel_ Sam because everything’s going numb and he can’t even find his fingertips anymore.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on finding breath somewhere. Sam won’t let him die, Sam won’t ever hurt him -- but _breathe, breathe, **BREATHE**_ is everything and he forgets it’s Sam there, forgets that he trusts Sam; Dean’s just fighting to stay alive.

Then, just like that, Sam lets up. Dean eyes fly open and he draws in ragged breaths of crisp, cold air, wanting all of it - _all of it_ \- never thought he could want oxygen as much as he does right now.

His chest keeps burning and his heart keeps thumping so heavily that he can feel it against his ribcage and hear it in his ears, but _Sam_ is front and centre of everything again and Dean finds focus on him.

Sam dips down to press their foreheads together. “s’okay,” he whispers, “I got’cha.”

And Dean _knows_ that; he doesn’t know how he could ever forget that. He can feel Sam moving in him again, thrusts picking up speed, hears Sam swallow, groan something like “Dean” soft and dirty by his ear.

Dean wants this, all of this, his cock hard as it rubs against Sam’s stomach and his leg wraps around Sam’s waist. He could have all this right now, but it’s not gonna be enough.

Instead, he finds Sam’s hand and moves it, brushing the fingertips over his neck. Sam knows exactly what he wants, no words needed, and slowly, slowly, his grip tightens around Dean’s neck.

Dean trusts Sam.

Sam pulls back and their eyes lock. Sam’s are heavy-lidded, his face flushed, and he’s all too much of perfect. His hand grips tighter and the white spots come back to the edges of Dean’s vision. Sam keeps moving, a hand lowering to grip around Dean’s cock. One stroke and Dean’s gasping, ready to come, but he doesn’t. Sam hasn’t yet.

“Yeah,” Sam says, and Dean can just hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Fuck--”

“Come,” Dean tries to say, but only his lips manage to move. Sam still gets it, he’d get it even if Dean didn’t open his mouth.

He thrusts harder and his hand tightens with each one, squeezing the last of Dean’s breath with it. Dean gives it all to Sam, every part of himself. His air, his life. When Sam comes, Dean stops remembering, the white and black in his eyes mingling until there’s nothing left.

x

Sam’s kissing his neck when he comes back to the world.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say “Sam”, but he stops himself. His voice is likely to be ragged and broken, and it’ll shatter this moment. Instead he lets Sam know he’s back by running his fingertips through his hair.

Sam’s kisses stop for a moment and then resume, soft pecks and nips across the tender skin. When Dean swallows he can feel the leftover burn from Sam’s hands, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’ll take it a hundred times over for this, for what they have, to let Sam have control and _know_ how much Dean trusts him, trusts him with everything and anything that will ever be.

Sam keeps kissing him.


End file.
